


The Road to Bremen

by charliemanson



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, wtnv
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Poetry, idk just cute shit!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliemanson/pseuds/charliemanson
Summary: Carlos marvels over the eccentric entity that Cecil Palmer is. One of the only ones who accepts his odd nature, and embraces it while sees it as beautiful.
Relationships: Cecil Palmer / Carlos, Cecilos
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	The Road to Bremen

Cecil lived vicariously through the raging Red Sea, a perfect copy of the water, he was dangerously without fear or apologies.

The radio host had no second thoughts about what he was doing, and he was lacking in any sort of filter for his language. Nothing seemed to phase the man, he prayed to dead gods for blood filled skies and he loved the unloved. He walked the beds of disturbed unrest and was a hunter of men, hanging trophy heads in his shed. 

Cecil didn’t lack a conscious per say, just the weight of danger never settled with him. The man was unpredictable and accustomed to socially bizarre things that were inane in nature as they were dangerous and disgusting. It was unacceptable, but Cecil defied all standards of what Carlos grew up with. He defiled the norm, and refused to placate the Police after corrupting their set rules. He speaks the truth and everybody else knows it.

And this trait became blatantly apparent to Carlos for the first time, as the eccentric man offered him a literal heart on the first Valentine’s Day the scientist experienced in the small town. Cecil’s cheeks were a soft lavender that stood out against his skin. His multiple eyes were glistening in hope with apprehension, the third usually glowing softly, but now it was spitting black sparks around his being. The younger mans hands trembled slightly, a nervous smile gracing his lips. 

How could Carlos say no to that?

Cecil looked at him like he had hung the moon, and through his cold, chapped lips, the scientist found the wise men on their way to Bethlehem between the teeth. Salvation seemed to be closing in through Cecil’s voice, and like the men following the Star in the sky, Carlos traces constellations in towers of animals in the most odd places. He brought gifts of chemicals and vials which the desert accepted, and in return, they blessed him with lips drawn in to the radio host, a blind eye in the oasis, the water seeping through Cecil’s cupped palms. Tacky clothes and visions of swamp filled bogs, Carlos was lost in the haphazard haze of this town, and he was at ease, and he was at ease. 

And he was drawn in through gas filled skies and unnatural lights from the canyons. He heard Cecil’s voice waver and crack in fear, and he vowed to him to never hear that again. The radio host cried tears of an opaque grey, his third eye covered in a film, beautiful though broken, another oath Carlos swore since that day. Eventually their voices gave out and their limbs gave in, the scientist gently holding Cecil’s hand in his, the warmth pulsating while tingles shot through his fingers, up to his wrists. 

The eccentric man usually sat with his knees up to his chest, drinking coffee through a spoon as he preached the words of death and fire and left the town peaceful. He wore black boots with neon shoelaces with pants, both legs usually a different color or pattern. He wore cardigans and golden jewelry, his button up shirt usually needing to be a _bit more ironed_ as half of it was untucked into his pants. Sometimes he’d wear floral kimonos or plaid shirts that he rolled up to his elbows, always having to readjust as they’d fall back down his forearms. And some days he would adorn himself in all black, dressed like he was ready for a funeral, but was as chipper as ever. 

It’s hard to tell when Carlos fell for the odd man, he was so perfectly, genuinely, completely insane. And he found comfort in that. And he wishes everyday that he’d never change. 

Cecil would smoke menthol 100’s, the brand unknown to the scientist. The smoke smell fit his odd being, as other scents included tapioca, dark wood, and lemon. As alarming as the habit was, Cecil reassured that death would only come if he _ate_ the nicotine.

The radio host strolled up to Carlos wearing a South Carolina hoodie with the state stamped to the back, filled in blue. The older man asked if he had ever been there, and Cecil replied that he had never even heard of that place at all, he just assumed it was merchandise of some obscure band. The radio host taught him how to read tarot, as Carlos taught Cecil how to mix certain chemicals. The two clashed quite perfectly in every conceivable way. Two opposite sides of the spectrum. 

_At first I took everything away from them, then they took everything away from me._

And they were at ease, and they were at ease. 

**Author's Note:**

> bweh I haven’t written a cecilos fic since I was like 14 LOL. I don’t think this will get many notes but I wanted to post it anyways :•]
> 
> also! the title and references from the story are from a song called Bremen by Pigpen Theatre. it’s part of the weather and I was obsessed with it the moment I heard it.


End file.
